


What Dreams May Come

by monimala



Category: Night at the Museum (2006 2009)
Genre: Angst, Gap Filler, M/M, POV Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 03:37:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3104117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monimala/pseuds/monimala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A missing scene for the end of <i>Secret of the Tomb</i>. </p>
<p>It's their very last adventure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Dreams May Come

They wait until the last echoes of Larry's footsteps have faded from the hall. And even then they're quiet. The moment stretches unbearably long, and Octavius finds himself memorizing the rakish tilt of Jedediah's hat and the suggestive placement of his belt buckle, the wicked glint in his eyes and the childish pout of his lower lip. For this is the last time he'll look upon his enemy-turned-friend, isn't it? It's their very last adventure.

He feels the dullness that comes with the approaching dawn. His limbs are heavier, his mind fuzzy. They have but minutes until the end, and those are minutes he does not want to waste. “Jedediah,” he begins, before faltering, struggling with his helmet and wrenching it off one last time. “Old friend. I–”

“Boy.” Jed's voice rasps along the word, equal parts endearment and warning. They both know Octavius is no boy; he's older in both theory and making. But it's what he becomes at Jed's side, and at his feet. “Boy, you best get on to your display and me to mine.”

Yes, he best do that. But neither of them makes a move in that direction. Instead, they step toward one another. Closer and closer until not even the illusion of breath separates their mouths.

He's never seen the sun, but he imagines it carries all the shades of Jedediah's fair hair. A corona of gold, yellow, silver and white. The strands slip through his fingers, and they don't burn. But Jed's lips...oh, they scorch with the sweetest fire. This is how it has always been between them. And how it will never be again.

Octavius clings to him for as long as he dares, the word “goodbye” lodged in his throat. His armor is no barrier to heartbreak, the plates clinking and shifting as Jedediah's deft hands try to find purchase. Perhaps they should stay like this, only to be found by the morning janitorial staff in a tangle of plastic limbs. A lewd tableau never to be spoken of, only dismantled and set to rights.

“Hell,” Jed swears, harshly against the line of Octavius' throat. “This can't be it.”

“Hell,” he repeats, slowly putting distance between them, painstakingly splitting one form into two. “This _is_ it. But perhaps we can make a Heaven of dreams.”

Jedediah does not argue, for once. He does not point out that “sleep” is a lie they've told themselves ever since the tablet first awakened the denizens of the museum. He just takes Octavius' hand one more time.

In the end, they do not say “goodbye” at all. They simply say “goodnight.”

 

 

\--end--

 

January 3, 2015

 


End file.
